


Why Spells Aren't as Inconvenient as You Would Think

by theowletqueen (nerdqueenenterprise)



Series: Sam Is Obviously Very Cuddly [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sam is a ridiculously cuddly drunk, and now he's very overly affectionate towards the reader, basically Sam is drunk except that it was a spell, hexed!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/theowletqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ghost Sam and Dean had been hunting turned out to be an entire coven of witches and they hexed Sam, so now Dean has a very drunk Sam in the passenger seat and four hours to go until he's at the bunker. He enlists your help to occupy Sam while he's driving and leaves him in your care afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Spells Aren't as Inconvenient as You Would Think

**Author's Note:**

> A quick backstory to this thing: I'm friends with elroymarvelous on tumblr and she runs a side blog called i-write-supernatural-things (you should check both blogs out!!! Elroy is amazing!!) where she writes mostly Sam x Reader fics and Imagines. We were talking about that and she said that xReader fics were relatively unusual and I told her I was pretty sure I couldn't write it because it's a difficult medium, so then this happened because apparently you have to challenge yourself to get better or something :)
> 
> Elroy, if you read it, this is still dedicated to you <3

You have been trying to reach the brothers for ages when Dean finally picks up.

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Dean! Where have you guys _been_?! I’ve been calling since forever after Bobby rang and told me it wasn’t a simple ghost but a coven of witches! You could at least have the decency to let me know stuff like that!”

There is unintelligible mumbling and shuffling at the other side and a few curses, and then Sam’s voice comes on.

“Y/N!!” he slurs, clearly completely next to himself. “’ve miss you for aaages.”

“Hi Sam,” you reply a bit tersely. “How are you?”

“’m - ’m so lonelly, Y/N. So-oh looonely,” he whines and you can’t help but smile. Sam is obviously completely smashed, a feat of itself, but how Dean managed to wrestle him into the Impala - because that is clearly her engine you hear in the background - is a mystery to you.

“Sam, can you let me talk to Dean?” you try to negotiate but you can practically _hear_ Sam’s pout. God, he’s such a ridiculous drunk.

“Why don’t you la-heyke meee?” he whines, sounding close to tears.

You can hear shuffling again and then Dean’s back.

“Sorry ’bout that, Y/N. I don’t know exactly what the witches hit him with, but he’s a mess.”

_“Am not!”_ Sam yells in the background.

Dean sighs in exasperation. “Look, I’d like to ask you to research spells that use the ingredients the witches used, but I can barely concentrate with him in the passenger seat. Can you please, I don’t know, talk to him? Keep him occupied, so I don’t run into a tree or something, yeah? I’ll be at the bunker in like four hours, just keep him off my back, ok, Y/N?”

You nod and are just about to respond as Sam is on again, yelling “Heyyy!” into your ear.

You sigh. It’s not that you hate Sam - quite the opposite, really - but no matter which Winchester it is, when they’re drunk they’re a chore.

“Hey Sam,” you answer. “Want to tell me about your day?”

And so he begins. Most of what he says isn't intelligible at all, so when the conversation is suddenly about dinosaurs, you don’t question it but just roll with it. Sam is remarkably much like a four-year-old when he’s drunk, and it’s quite adorable. In limited doses, of course.

 

Over the course of the next few hours you hear things like: “I really like it when your hair does the thing, Y/N. When it jus’ jus’ sitting there, on your - hiccup - head an’ all.”, “Do y’ have enough toesss?”, “Y/N, Y/N! I los’ m’ haand!” and the iconic: “I don’ thi-hink Imma shoe, Y/N. D’y’ think Imma - a shoe?”

You wish you could record all of it, but unfortunately you can’t so you’ll just have to live off the memory. You silently vow you’ll never let Sam live it down.

 

“We’re - we’re at this weeird place, Y/N. ’s like a - a thing. - hiccup - D’you live there?” Sam slurs eventually and that can only mean one thing: They’re back and you’ll get to witness six foot four of unlimited sex appeal trying to figure out how to use stairs or a tap again. It’s going to be awesome. You’ve got your camera ready to collect as much blackmail material as possible.

“De wants me to - wants me to do - to geddoudofthe caar!” Sam mumbles affronted.

You would like to answer, you really would, but you’re doubled over with silent laughter and can’t really speak.

Then the door to the garage opens and Dean maneuvers Sam through it. As soon as he sees you, he lets the phone fall and stumbles towards you, grinning broadly. You pocket your own phone and grip his hand as soon as it’s within reaching distance to help him down the stairs.

Once he’s in front of you, he immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting you a few inches off the ground.

This is - not what you’ve expected. You’ve hugged Sam before, of course, and know how firm and warm he feels, but never like this. You bury your nose in his shoulder and inhale his cologne and the smell of his shampoo and something else that’s entirely Sam.

Sam babbles excitedly into your ear about how much he’s missed you, but you mostly ignore that in favor of committing each minuscule detail of hugging Sam to memory. He’s a space heater, that’s for sure, and you feel incredibly safe in his arms. His hair falls slightly over your face and you can’t help but lift one hand up from where it’s wrapped around Sam’s neck (seriously, what else were you supposed with your arms when Sam comes at you like that?) and pet it. It’s every bit as soft as you’ve imagined and it’s the perfect length to play with.

Before you can really get your fingers into it, he puts you down again, petting at your hair in wonder while talking about … something.

Dean is still standing behind Sam and is trying to contain his laughter.

“If I were you, I’d tap that,” he tells you with a wink. “Bobby called, he says it’s not really dangerous and he’ll just have to sleep it off, but someone has to look over him. You can do the honors, Y/N, he’s your boyfriend.”

“Shut up!” you tell him, blushing furiously. Great. Apparently Dean has picked up on your not-so-small crush and is now going to relentlessly tease you about it. As long as he doesn’t tell Sam, you might be able to live with that.

And then Dean slips past you and Sam and vanishes up the stairs to the bedrooms. Traitor. 

You take Sam’s hand. “Come one, Sam, it’s late, let’s get you into bed,” you tell him, and he follows easily, stumbling over his feet to keep up with you, talking nonsense.

 

You bring him into his room and give him a gentle push towards the bed, letting go of his hand. Sam looks at you with huge puppy eyes.

“Y/N!” he begs. “Don’ leave me!”

You sigh. “Put on your pajamas, Sam.”

He nods eagerly and begins tugging at his shirt, immediately looking up at you in confusion.

“Don’ work,” he pouts whinily.

You groan internally but step forward and help him unbutton it. The last thing you need is to undress a drunk Sam. Not that you’d really mind an undressed Sam, but… uh, no.

Once you’re done, you step back and turn around again.

“Nooo! Don’ go!” he calls.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam. I’m just … not looking. Put on your pajamas, okay?”

You hear clothing rustling and feel the urge of wiping sweat off your brow when you hear him getting out of his jeans. You’re willing to do a lot of things for Sam, but opening his pants isn’t exactly one of them.

“Y/N?” he asks and you can hear the confused little frown in his voice.

“What is it, Sam?”

“Don’ know what you wan’ me t’do…”

“Put on your pajamas, Sam.”

“But - but where are they?”

How that man can be such a baby is beyond you.

“They’re either on your bed or in the chest of drawers.”

You can hear him pull back the duvet and open all drawers.

“They’re not here.”

God, how _on earth_ does he manage to sound like a sad emoticon?

“Did you put them in the washing?” you ask.

Sam thinks about that very hard and finally decides “Yes!”

You want to smack yourself. And him.

“Okay, Sam, I’ll get them. Just - just stay here, okay?”

You hightail to the washing room. Shit like that only ever happened to you. For all you know Sam’s naked right now, completely unashamed in his cursed stupor.

You spy his gray sweatpants and white long-sleeved shirt in the pile of washing from the dryer and grab them, internally debating how you’ll give them to him and berating yourself for being such a prude. _Surely_ you can keep this completely platonic, right?

 

Sam is indeed completely naked when you come back to the room, but thankfully he’s standing with his back to you, observing the books he’s put on top of the chest of drawers. You immediately avert your eyes and stare at the tips of your boots.

“Hey Sam,” you say, willing the blush back to wherever it came from. “I’ve got your pajamas.”

He comes pretty close to you, but luckily only grabs the clothes and begins dressing himself. You breathe a sigh of relief when you look up and see that he’s fully covered again.

“Good. Now, lets put you to bed, yes?” you coax.

He makes the first few unsteady steps towards the bed, then turns around and frowns.

“Wha’ttabout you?” he pouts. “You need sleep, too, Y/N. Come to bed with me?”

Why did stuff like that only ever happen to you? You know fully well how insistent a drunk Sam can be. The only thing that would get you out of this would be a meteor strike that just so happened to hit you. And that’s not gonna happen.

“Okay,” you sigh and take your shoes and pants off, blushing furiously as you remember that you’re wearing the underwear with the little cat faces on. Luckily your shirt is long enough to cover that and you crawl into the bed next to Sam.

Sam immediately practically lies down on you and engages his octopus mode again, tangling his legs with yours and snuggling his nose into your neck. A shiver runs through you. It’s not that you mind, not really - oh, who are you kidding here? You love it! - but it’s a lot at once.

Sam gives a final happy wriggle and then his breathing evens out and he’s out cold within half a minute. Which is kind of disappointing, to be honest. You’d at least hoped he might try to sneak in a grope, even though that would probably only have embarrassed you terribly.

As things are, you only hug him back a bit awkwardly and try to fall asleep as well. The fact that the lights are still on doesn’t really help, and neither does his breath on your neck.

Eventually you slip away though.

 

The next time you’re aware again the first thing you notice is that there’s something missing. More specifically, you’re not squashed by 200 pounds of hexed Sam anymore. Which is kind of sad, really, because he’s very cuddly.

The next thing you notice is the smell of pancakes and the soft clatter of cutlery and crockery. Then someone tickles your nose.

“Come on, Y/N, I know you’re awake.”

You blink one eye open and stare at Sam, who’s hovering over you. 

“Hey,” he smiles at you.

You’re still frowning, but open both eyes, eyeing the tray Sam set down on the nightstand. There’s a heap of pancakes with syrup and little chocolaty bits, just how you like it, sitting there, together with two steaming mugs of what smells like hot chocolate.

“Do you treat all your one night stands to such an awesome breakfast?” you ask, a bit grumpy because you’re just not a morning person. Ever.

Sam nearly jumps back several feet.

“Oh God, Y/N, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t - I’m so sorry, Y/N, I -”

You frown at him. “Hey, what do you mean?”

He looks like he just saw someone kill a puppy, and you don’t understand what’s going on in his head to make that face.

“Y/N, I don’t remember a thing of what happened last night, but I’m sorry if I - in any way - um, forced myself on you?”

“Forced - No, Sam! Oh God, no! I’m just - you may have kinda cuddle-assaulted me? But I don’t really mind, so, um…” you trail off, unsure of what to say.

He chuckles hazily and relaxes. “Okay, whew. Good. I just - I didn’t - I don’t,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I’d’ve done that.”

You laugh, a lot more relaxed around him now.

“Do you mind if I um,” he motions towards the bed and you beam.

“Sure! It’s your bed after all.”

He slips under the covers next to you and leans over you to get the tray. Then he snuggles close until you’re pressed together from toe to shoulder (well, your toe is pressed against his mid-calf and his shoulders tower a couple inches over yours, but whatever) and sets the tray down on both your thighs.

“I think you should get drunk or cursed drunk more often!” you announce as he cuts off a piece of pancake and holds it to your mouth. You take it and chew, the sugary flavor hitting you instantly and you moan a bit.

“Mmmhm, those are gooood!”

He chuckles and feeds you another bite. You cuddle into him and let yourself be fed. He snuggles into your hair but pulls back when you push his hand away when he brings you the next forkful.

“Your turn,” you insist and he grins more prettily than he has any right to, but accepts.

 

The two of you finish the pancakes in no time, but he stays with his arm around your shoulders while you sip your hot chocolate. He has his, too, but by the looks of it watching you drink is more entertaining.

You lean back into him a bit more, feeling his heartbeat against your back and his arm wrapped around you, fingers playing with the tips of your hair, and you can’t help but grin like stupid.

There is nothing in the world that’s better than cuddling with Sam Winchester. Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> (I totally did not channel my inner Sam!Girlyness into the reader. Nope. Why would I want to get hugged by that gorgeous hunk of a man? And why would I possibly want to play with his majestic moose mane? Naaaah mate I am so not attracted to him. At all. *heart eyes*)
> 
> So I hoped you enjoyed this! There's a second part and I might write a 3rd part that would be NSFW, but only if there's someone interested...  
> THANK YOU FOR READING <3


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